


fuck pretty girls (or, alternatively, Fuck pretty girls)

by glittermarxism



Series: Sapphic Shenanigans [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chubby Tamara, F/F, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited, but like it's a fantasy?, in her DREAMS. tori would wreck her. but we can pretend, top tamara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittermarxism/pseuds/glittermarxism
Summary: Tamara and Tori share a High School debate class, and they're always at each other's throats. Tamara really, really wishes she could knock Tori down a peg or two sometimes.(TL;DR: Tamara fantasizes about fucking Tori over a desk because she "hates" her)





	fuck pretty girls (or, alternatively, Fuck pretty girls)

**Author's Note:**

> !! this is sort of a prequel thing to an rp i'm in rn where tamara and tori get together in college ?? 
> 
> all characters are 18, they're seniors. and i know i use a lot of American terms (like especially regarding height) but idrc. whoops.
> 
> expect more high school shenanigans because i really enjoy the dynamic of two arrogant, idiot girls with massive crushes on each other who just can't rationalize how gay they are and try and convince themselves they hate each other. it's embarrassing. 
> 
> (also any inaccuracies regarding politics was intentional. they're high schoolers, they're smart but they're dumb. tori has contrived ideas about leftism, and tamara has contrived ideas about centrism. neither of them are wholly right! basically please no political Wars in the comments i was trying to build the character dynamics, not promote any specific belief system via smutfic)

Tamara absolutely loathed her.

Tori Larsen was 5’8” of a brand of egotism that made Tamara want to absolutely murder her. They shared 4th period debate together, and they were always at odds with one another. See, the thing about Tori was that she was smart. Like, ridiculously smart, even if Tamara wanted to maintain that no person was really more intelligent than she was. Tori came damn near close to challenging Tamara’s own ego.

It wasn’t the Advanced courses, though the way Tori had mastered quantum mechanics and intricate economic theories certainly was… intimidating, for lack of better phrasing. No, Tori was clever, she was just so very misguided. She had all of these big ideas, billowing from the surface and pouring from her lips. Misguided, radical doctrines. She was the kind of kid who read “The Communist Manifesto” once and refused to hear arguments contrary to Marx. It was aggravating, especially for Tamara, who prided herself on a near libertarian kind of centrism for the sake of pragmatism. Tori’s bolstering idealism was childish, and the worst part was that she never shut up.

Ever.

Take debate, for instance. Regardless of her assigned stance, she’d find a way to argue for the point she most believed in. That would be obnoxious in of itself, especially when it came paired with a “my GPA is ridiculous, what’s it matter if I fail an elective course?” kind of attitude. But, it was worse than Tori constantly arguing in favor of the left. That would be tolerable, easily so. No, Tori would take up as much of the class as she could, and she wouldn’t even listen to contrary opinions. She was smart, well informed, and Tamara usually agreed with her—but she was an idiotic kind of stubborn, and a worse kind of arrogant. Tamara wanted to rip off her shirt. Or, rip out her throat. The difference hardly mattered by this point.

Tori was so fucking loud. Not really even volume wise, though. The intensity of her speech was from the sternness, and the certainty with which she spoke. It was the leering condescension with which she addressed the other side, and it was the tantalizing warmth of her accent. Tori was loud in the way she carried herself, mostly. Tori’s presence was enough to nearly give Tamara sensory overload, from her smooth voice to her biting wit to her slim, fit physique to the eroticism of her figure to her stupid, greasy hair to the dumb glasses she’d wear when she couldn’t be bothered with contacts—it was too much. If Tamara were still as consumed with the religious messages from her childhood, she would truly believe that Tori was some sort of demon sent to test her morale. If that was the case, Tamara was profoundly weak-willed. 

Tamara fidgeted at her desk, tiny hands twitching as Tori was called up. Tamara couldn’t do this. She could not spend one more class listening to Tori’s idiocy. She exhaled a little sigh past pouty lips, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the bane of her teenage existence. They were debating the death penalty, which Tori was staunchly opposed to in a way that was so hypocritical that Tamara wanted to scream. The thing was, Tori never really made a bad argument. It’d be easier if she did, she was just so self-righteous and lived in a world of absolutes. Tori was a proud little communist, who’d defend even Stalin until her last breath, and yet she found it abhorrent to kill criminals. Jesus. She was never good at handling that sort of thing either, or adjusting a stance.

Say, if Tamara raised a chubby arm in the air and politely said, “Why, Tori, don’t you recall the Soviet gulags? It’s awful hypocritical of you to approve death in the name of your ideals, but critique it when its enacted by Western nations,” or something of the like. Most people would be able to step back, acknowledge an intricate situation, because it really isn’t too hard to simply say, “Why, yes, Tamara! I am a communist, but I don’t agree with every action taken by communist nations. That’d be ridiculous, and I recognize you criticizing a point of view I have is not a personal attack on me and my beliefs,”

No, Tori wasn’t that easy. That’s how normal people react to things. Tori would get red in the face, and begin antagonizing whoever dared imply she was not always right. She’d simply brush off any critiques of her beliefs with a self-important quip that she wouldn’t dare do such a thing, so clearly that complaint couldn’t be relevant. Tamara hated it. She hated it and she hated her, and she hated that it wasn’t her turn to speak, because she was one of the few people in this class of imbiciles that could handle Tori’s sharp tongue.

But, it wasn’t her turn to speak, and unlike Tori—Tamara didn’t want to fail an elective class, even if her GPA would be fine even for the slight bruising. So, she sat still as she could, and glared daggers at Tori Larsen as she stood in front of the class with that shit-eating grin on her face. Tamara exhaled slightly, feeling an unpleasant warmth crawl up her skin as Tori started to speak.

Every word she said made Tamara increasingly more pissed. She hated her. She hated her. She was so arrogant, and stupid, and awful, and she needed to learn how to fucking shut up for once in her life. Tamara’s toes curled in her checkered vans, and she leaned back against her chair. She crossed her pudgy arms over her chest, pointer finger irritably tapping at her upper arm as she did so. Tori needed to be taken down a peg or two, and Tamara wanted to be the one to do it. 

She focused intently on Tori until she could imagine that they were the only two people in the classroom. Tamara imagined rising from her desk, and saying something intelligent and witty that would make Tori adorably flustered as she scrambled for the right words to defend her precious ego. As if Tamara would give her the time for that; she smiled to herself as she imagined a world where she could gently take her little hand up Tori’s spine and bend her over a desk. Any one, it didn’t matter. Tamara just wanted to see her like that: bent over, legs spread, hands behind her back, cheek pressed against the wooden surface of a shitty, public school desk. 

Tamara could revel in that sight forever, that would be enough, but this was a fantasy—she could go on. And go on she would, holding one of Tori’s bony little hips in the palm of her hand and pressing against her as another hand reached under her to rub at her crotch through those endearingly sexy pantsuits she would wear on a days where she felt particularly self righteous. She imagined Tori’s little whimpers, and how amazing it would be to hear her make any sound besides words. Tamara was sick of the things she had to say. She’d press her fingers rather forcefully against Tori, snaking the hand on her hip upwards to grope at one of her monstrous tits. God, they were unreal. Tori was unreal, and Tamara hated her. 

Tori was talking about incarceration rates, and Tamara was wondering if Tori would ever beg. She bet she would, she’d get so fed up with Tamara’s teasing, she’d hump hopelessly against her hand until she was red faced and quietly begging Tamara to touch her. And Tamara would love nothing more. She’d snake Tori’s pants downwards, and maybe in another fantasy she would then tease her through her panties, but that sort of patience did not exist in Tamara’s angry, horny mind at the moment. Her thick thighs pressed together as she stared Tori down.

Her underwear would be off in mere seconds; Tamara would not waste another moment. She’d lift the hand that had been palming her cunt up to Tori’s lips, commanding her to suck. Once they were slick with salvia, Tamara would pull out and revel in the softness of Tori’s lips before trailing her hand downwards. Tamara hated her, Tamara hated her and she wouldn’t be gentle, she’d immediately begin pumping in the two wet fingers and teasing her clit with her thumb. Tamara was considerably shorter than Tori, by about 3 or 4 inches, but she would press up against her and absolutely wreck her. She’d finger fuck her mercilessly, while her other hand would tug at her pert nipple and play with the flesh of her breast. 

She would fuck Tori until she was drooling, moaning so loud her throat would get sore and she wouldn’t be able to speak, God, Tamara was so sick of the things she had to say. She was sick of her arrogance, sick of her teasing, sick of her sly remarks, sick of how funny she was, sick of how intelligent she was, sick of the stories of hookups with girls who weren’t Tamara so they didn’t matter—Tamara hated Tori. She hated her, and she wanted to fuck her until those long, toned, gorgeous legs were shaking and tears pricked at her eyes and her hair was a mess. Tamara imagined the slickness gliding down her inner thighs, covering Tamara’s hand. She shuddered slightly at the thought, chewing at her inner cheek as she pretended to care about whatever point Tori was making. 

Tamara imagined leaving her like that. Pathetic, with her pants around her ankles and her shirt pulled up. God, that’d be too much. Realistically, Tamara wouldn’t ever be able to do that. She’d help clean her up, rub her back, kiss her cheek and wrap an arm around her. But, realism hardly mattered. It wasn’t as if she was going to fuck her anytime. She wasn’t Tori’s type. She grit her teeth, angry with herself. She just wanted to enjoy a temporary little fantasy, and she had to ruin it for herself again with the common knowledge that Tori didn’t want to go on any dates with her, didn’t want to fuck her, didn’t want to hold hands or share little pecks. It didn’t matter. It was stupid for Tamara to want that, anyway. 

Tori stepped down, sitting down and flashing a snarky grin in Tamara’s direction. She responded with a glare, curling her lip, and Tori rested her chin on her hand and stared at her with a bigger grin. Tamara looked away quickly, not really in the mood to get caught up with her relentless teasing.

God, Tamara loathed her.


End file.
